Freefall
by EOlivet
Summary: He felt safe in the most dangerous relationship of his life.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize described herein are the property of Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer Productions and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Timeline: Post-Kam Li  
  
Rating: TV-14. Jack and Samantha pairing.  
  
Acknowledgments: S and D, thank you for all your support and encouragement!!! Maple Street gang, you guys are wonderful as always.  
  
A/N: This was posted back at MSt back when KL first aired, before the show revealed the affair was canon. So it's kind of A/U because in light of AYN, I'm pretty sure the affair was also over at this point. Therefore, please suspend your disbelief accordingly. :)  
  
***  
  
Freefall  
  
***  
  
He was remembering what it was like to fly. He hadn't thought about flying in ages, but now as he sat there, waiting for her, it seemed impossible not to think about it. The exhilaration - how the thrill and excitement of the moment seemed to power his very being, so he didn't just exist in it -- he embodied it. He let himself become a part of it, surrendering to become one with the sensation of the plane and the sky and the world spread out before him.  
  
Then he remembered when he lost his fear.  
  
He would always feel that jolt of adrenaline coursing through him, but he'd developed an illusion of control over the experience. He thought he'd mastered all the skills, conquered every obstacle that could be thrown at him. Familiarity had bred conceit. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was prepared for anything.  
  
Shortly after that was when he'd gotten shot down, and the fall had shattered so much of who he was, it took a long time before he was able to rebuild his sense of being -- and only with strict, self-imposed caveats and carefully constructed defenses to prevent something like this from ever happening again.  
  
But he'd broken all those rules and abandoned the safe, protected confines of that life just to be with her. It was like getting into a plane all over again.  
  
At first, he fed on the daily rush of just being near her. A longing look, an unintentional touch, a careless comment in front of others only heightened the excitement and some days it was tempting to push the limits even further -- lengthened gazes, deliberate touches, blatant comments. Like the threat of death, the threat of discovery had merely enhanced the high.  
  
But now he felt that anxiety slowly dissipating -- just as it had done all those years ago. Being with her had become more comfortable. They had gotten bolder, or maybe just careless. The amount of time in between their separate departures from the office had dwindled from an hour down to mere minutes. He no longer panicked if they happened to share an elevator up to his floor. And a couple of times, he'd even caught himself kissing her with the door to his room partially open.  
  
He was definitely losing his fear, but still jumped at the sharp knock that sent him out of his reverie, careening back into reality.  
  
He got up, that familiar adrenaline surge pounding through his heart as he opened the door to reveal her standing there in front of him.  
  
She gave him that small, but potent smile in greeting and breezed into his room with a contagious confidence that always seemed to accompany her wherever she went.  
  
"Didn't have time to shower before I left -- I still smell like the backwoods, don't I?" Her eyes shifted in the direction of the bathroom, then turned back to him. "I'll just be a minute."  
  
He nodded, as she placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly before heading into the bathroom, the door closing behind her.  
  
The sound of running water was so normal, so routine that for a moment, it was hard to remember that everything about this was wrong and forbidden. She had become such a part of his life that only in rare moments did he realize she wasn't supposed to be there. He hadn't lost the guilt, he still knew they shouldn't be doing this, but he also truly believed there was nothing he could do, nothing that he'd want to do to stop it now.  
  
As it was, he no longer wondered why she was with him -- why she came here after work instead of spending the evening out with friends or a boyfriend, an evening that probably wouldn't consist of takeout or room service. Someone who could show her off, instead of hiding her, who would be able to tell others everything he felt for her, instead of being forced to keep those feelings to himself. He was still a bit mystified that she kept coming back, but he'd stopped questioning it.  
  
Sometime, somehow things had changed for both of them. It was still thrilling, but no longer unexpected. Fear of death and discovery was forgotten -- running down that shower drain as easily as it had vanished into the clouds all those years before.  
  
He noticed her suitcase -- propped up in the corner. Her coat draped over a chair. One towel gone from the stack outside the bathroom.  
  
She'd come here from the airport. She'd gotten off the plane, put her suitcase in a cab and asked the driver not to take her home, but to her married boss' hotel room. Had the driver gotten lost, she could've directed him as easily as if she was finding her way home. And he knew she'd come today. She hadn't mentioned it, but somehow he knew she'd be there just the same.  
  
The shower water shut off. Higher and higher he climbed, further and further from the world beneath him.  
  
Listening to the remnants of the water falling to the floor, he wondered for the first time if she'd want to be with him now -- as soon as she came back into the room. She'd been traveling all day, but perhaps she was tired -- he was actually a little tired as well. The shower wasn't a clue either way -- she could be very unpredictable.  
  
That was part of the problem, he figured, part of the reason it was so easy to be with her. They didn't have to sleep together. Even at the beginning, that wasn't always the reason he wanted to be near her. She knew how to take care of him in many ways and maybe she wanted to feel needed. Maybe she needed him as much as he needed her. She knew, she understood, and he felt safe with her -- safe in the most dangerous relationship of his life. But that was what happened when you spent most of your time in the air. It became more comfortable than the ground.  
  
The door opened and she appeared, wrapped tightly in a hotel robe, her hair falling in towel-dried waves around her neck and shoulders. Her feet were bare and it made him realize how young she was. But every time he'd get close to telling her how she deserved much more than here, much more than this -- her eyes, what he saw when he looked at her -- always stopped him from saying anything.  
  
She got up on the bed alongside him, resting her head slightly under his shoulder, as he wrapped his arms around her to draw her close. This case had taken a lot out of her -- out of both of them.  
  
"I know we should be used to finding them dead by now," she sighed.  
  
He shook his head slightly, as he rubbed her arm. "No. You could see it a hundred times -- it never gets any easier."  
  
She was silent for a minute before responding. "Sykes wasn't so bad...I had a feeling that might happen. But Bull...I mean, this guy had a-- this guy had family who cared about him. Even if they never really knew him. I just don't think there's any way he would've killed himself."  
  
He only had to consider it a moment. The choice was easier than he thought it would be. "He didn't," he confessed to her.  
  
Now she sat up, confused and concerned. "The suicide note..." But she was too perceptive. "He knew then -- he knew he was going to die."  
  
"He killed someone," he stated, and left it at that.  
  
She looked disgusted. But she had no idea. "An eye for an eye," she muttered, turning away from him.  
  
He wanted to tell her, but it was so hard. "You shouldn't judge them," he said, simply.  
  
Opening the drawer to the right of the bed, she removed a pile of takeout menus. Sitting there with those bare feet, looking through the menus -- she was so young. "Why not?" she wanted to know, the menus still grasped in her hand. "Since when did revenge killing become acceptable, even within the military?" She sounded so naive, though he knew that was certainly not her intent.  
  
"That's not how military justice works, Sam."  
  
Something in his tone, in his demeanor had given him away. He knew because she had put the menus down on the table and was holding his gaze -- stunned, but not surprised. "Jack..." His name escaped from her. "I didn't know," she admitted.  
  
Her hand was on his leg now -- his bad leg. She knew he had a bad leg, but she didn't-- God, how did she put it together so quickly? "I didn't know," she repeated, saying nothing else, just rubbing his leg with her hand that looked so small. She looked at him, her eyes asking -- but not demanding -- more of an explanation.  
  
He forced himself to meet her gaze. Somehow, though, that made it easier. "My plane got shot down," the words tumbled out. "I was a pilot."  
  
Her eyes never left his, her hand moving back and forth across his leg. Then her lips turned up slightly -- revealing a small, but grateful smile. She didn't press the issue further, the touch of her hand communicating more than any words she could've chosen.  
  
The world around them grew smaller and smaller, and it all looked so different. Different rules applied up here. This was information he hadn't shared with anyone at work, but she seemed to exist outside of that world. Like the sky, she enveloped everything around him until all he could see was her.  
  
The same, however, could not be said for the rest of his team. "Martin told me before I left that he thought I handled the case just fine," he informed her, breaking the silence that had crept up between them.  
  
Now her lips turned up in a smirk. "Did he get promoted to Director while I was gone?" she wondered, settling back to her original position at his side, her head resting under his shoulder. Yet one hand continued to journey up and down his leg.  
  
He sighed. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."  
  
It was true. The past held no power here -- it was a force to be defied, eased away by this moment, and a hand on his leg at the present time. Her touch infused him with the future -- not just some pipe dream years away, but the future now as he became very aware of her hand on his leg, moving up and down and back and forth. Maybe he wasn't quite so tired anymore. The gleam in her eye certainly indicated the day hadn't worn her out completely either.  
  
She tasted like sun and wind and blue sky, her robe fluffy as the clouds billowing around him -- soft and inviting -- and becoming a part of them so high in the air was at once intensely exciting and unbelievably serene.  
  
It was a clear, perfect day all those years ago. What could've possibly gone wrong?  
  
But now, he had nothing to be afraid of, there was nothing to fear. He was young back then, younger than her -- and he hadn't seen it coming. He'd been blindsided by the feeling of being above everything, up there where no one could reach him, except the shot--  
  
The sudden shooting pain when he gathered her to him and her bare feet brushed against his bad leg, as he shut his eyes, held on tight and tried not to think of what that might mean.  
  
The End. 


End file.
